


These Exiled Years

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Hook is banished to the land without magic, he spends years trying to find a way back. His solution comes in the form of a deal with the villain Pan: find this woman and bring her to me, and you may go to any realm you wish. Hook agrees to the deal, not realizing that he will get far more than he bargained for when he attempts to kidnap Emma Swan, the long-lost princess of Misthaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A man stands amongst the shadows in a darkened alley. As he inhales deeply, he realizes with some amusement that he had been so intent on watching and waiting that he has reached the end of his cigarette; he lets it drop to the gravel and hears the crunch of his boot as he stubs the thing out. He reaches into an inner pocket of his leather jacket for a new pack, tapping it down with patient vehemence against his left inner forearm. He unwraps the cellophane packaging, the white box and the Lucky Strikes label catching his eye as he preps his next pack.

When he arrived in this land, his instinct and unique talent to survive in any situation immediately kicked in; he picked the pocket of the first landed gentlemen he found, disconcerted when he pulled out the stack of paper that served as currency but quickly availing himself of a local haberdasher. He knew his togs would not pass in this large, confusing city, and he needed to blend in and find a way out. Not too long after that, a young miscreant attempted to divest him of his freshly stolen coin (or dollar, as it were), and he had to teach the lad a lesson by robbing him in exchange for his young, misbegotten life. All he took away from the exchange was the lad's pack of Lucky Strikes and another bad habit to add to his long list of dubious life decisions. It did not take long to locate the criminal element in the town he quickly learned was called Boston; soon enough, his easy smiles and light fingers earned him a reputation amongst the gangsters and ne'er-do-wells as a man without affiliation who could be had for the right price. So, he did as he had always done: existed in a state of partial awareness, his blood ever-simmering with the fury of vengeance unfulfilled. And he plotted. Figured out how to get back home. 

Two full years passed before his chance arrived, and it was in the form of a smirking boy he wished never to lay eyes on again. Pan's new second—Felix was his name—almost managed to get the drop on him, but Hook was far too clever to be overcome by a lanky piece of shite sent by the boy King of Neverland. 

At first he'd thought Felix an assassin, but before Hook could kill him outright the boy dangled such delicious fruit that Hook had to listen instead of succumbing to the urge to wring the boy's scrawny neck. “Work for Pan, and you will be taken to any realm you wish as a reward,” Felix told him. Hook had merely grinned his sinister grin, the one that made grown men in this land without magic (and the realms beyond) quiver with primal fear. 

“Work for the bastard who banished me here in the first place?” he drawled, his hand at the non-existent hilt of his lost sword. He raised his hook instead, turning it this way and that so it caught the dim light of the streetlamps above. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

“ _Captain_ ,” Felix sneered, the scar on his face looking almost fearsome in the dark. “Pan needs you to find a woman and bring her—unharmed—to Neverland. He'll know once you have her.” 

“And what does Pan want with a grown woman?” 

“Need to know basis, Captain. Find her and bring her to Pan. Her name is Emma Swan. She'll be thirty years old this year. She was abandoned on the side of the road up in Maine twenty-nine years ago. I imagine you can use your cunning and wit to locate her current position.” 

“I've yet to make up my mind on whether I will in the first place, my dear Felix. Suppose I simply do to you what I did to Rufio?” 

Felix held his smile but the dark glint in his eyes dimmed; Hook felt a lick of remorse tickle his throat, but as he so often did, he reminded himself that _he_ always comes first, and that the Lost Ones were far older and more malicious than their pubescent faces suggested. Besides, Rufio was a little shit. Still, the image of the boy's blood and his hook piercing his neck stayed with him long after Felix slunk away with Hook's arrogant “I'll think about it” ringing after him in the dark. 

When Felix reappeared a few weeks later, Hook decided he had no better prospects on how to get back to the Enchanted Forest, so he took Pan's offer. Felix chucked a little velvet bag through the air and Hook caught it neatly, wondering at its contents. 

“This is how you get back to Neverland. Emma Swan. Maine. Twenty-nine years ago.” 

Hook squeezed the bag in his palm. A magic bean. His head nearly spun when he thought about the worth of what he was now holding. A man could ask his price in exchange for something so valuable. To those in the know, at any rate. 

“What's to stop me from using this to get where I wish to go and forgetting the kidnapping?” 

Felix smiled with smug condescension. “Pan would find you.” 

Hook raised his eyebrows by way of grudging acknowledgment. That was certainly true. 

“And remember, Captain. The princess must be returned alive.” As a slow, sneering grin unfurled on Hook's face, Felix realized his mistake and tried to downplay the import of what had just been revealed, but it was far too late. 

“Princess, eh? And would this be the long-lost Princess of Misthaven and heiress apparent of the sleep-addled Queen Snow White?” 

Felix said nothing, simply turning and muttering that he'd find him once he returned to Neverland with this Emma Swan in his possession. 

But as Hook stands there in the dark, waiting for the unwitting princess to come home, he spares a moment of disgust for both himself and for Felix in thinking that a lady who looked like _that_ who could quite handily hold her own could be some man's pawn or worse, his possession. 

What he had observed of this strong blonde whirlwind of a woman seemed to indicate that she would not come with him willingly. 

“Well,” he muttered to himself, stomping out another cigarette and shoving hand and hook in the pockets of his motorcycle-style leather coat. “I always _did_ relish a challenge.” 

It had been troublesome trying to locate her in the first place. Luckily for him, his charm and raillery were automatic, and seducing the information from the adoption agency clerk hadn't been as difficult as it ought have been. 

When Hook realized she was a frequent runaway (truly, it was a marvel she hadn't ended up in Neverland on her own) and eventually ended up in the penal system, he began to feel empathy and a grudging respect for this lost princess. He followed the clues left behind by the small bits of her hard life, and by the time he tracked her down to a modest apartment building (compared to some of the other buildings it was modest—he still was unused to the sheer splendor of the architecture in this land), he was rather keen on seeing her in person. 

Once he did, he wished he had never agreed to Pan's terms. 

For Emma Swan truly looked the princess, only like no royal he'd ever encountered, and he had once knelt at the feet of kings. She dressed as did most women of this realm—for comfort, but when on the heels of a bail jumper, she often dressed in the provocative manner of a woman on the prowl. He followed her for longer than was strictly necessary, telling himself that he was merely learning the habits of his mark so that he could better determine how to capture her, but Hook was a pirate and therefore extraordinarily good at deception, even unto himself. 

There was something in her fierce determination that called to him, something in the set of her jaw as she walked with purpose, whether it was in her sturdy boots or in the curious and alluring heels that she wore with such confidence. He sensed a kindred spirit, a person who had had a hard go of it, and he found himself admiring her more and more. Which was, of course, a problem, as he had given his word that he would take her to one of the most vile creatures he had ever encountered in his over-long, tiresome life. 

He began to wonder whether he would be able to go through with it. But, as he so often did, he continued planning, telling himself that she was merely a step toward his ultimate goal: to get back to the Enchanted Forest and exact vengeance on the demon who had taken everything from him. 

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of his quarry; Emma (for she had become Emma to him in his mind) approached the entryway of her apartment building, her strides long and even but the set of her shoulders stiff. He could tell she had a long day at work, and he wondered how she would unwind tonight. Perhaps draw a bath, or take a slug of whiskey as he had once seen her do in the bar she favored. 

Just as he was thinking about her long, bare legs stretching out on a couch he'd never seen, he noticed something interesting: a man, tall and bearded, walking with purpose across the street. The man was accompanied by three other men, all dressed in dark colors and looking around furtively. Two went around back while the other two approached the building. 

It did not take long for Hook to realize what was happening: someone else had beaten him to the punch. Within minutes, he watched the four men exit the building with the limp form of Emma Swan carried between two of them. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, tossing aside a cigarette. He reached into an inner pocket and withdrew his hook, clicking it into place. 

It occurred to him as he watched them descend the short walkway that he could simply allow it, could let them carry her off to wherever they were going and wash his hands of the whole business that was proving to be much messier than he'd first thought. This Princess Emma seemed troublesome on many levels, the least of which being she was stirring a part of him that had not been disturbed in nigh on three centuries. 

He could simply inform Pan or Felix or whomever confronted him about not completing his end of a bargain that the woman was kidnapped before he had the chance to abduct her himself. There would be retribution, of course, but Hook had dealt with Pan many a time. He knew he would be—not forgiven, perhaps, but not written off, either. 

As the man once called Killian Jones watched the limp form of Emma Swan, possible Princess of Misthaven, be carried away in the dark, his mind spurred to action, considering the various factors at play—the number of men involved, the fact that they seemed capable and experienced, how he would overcome them using both hook and wit, the possible identity of her abductors, whether she had raised the ire of a local crime lord with her job and temper, whether he could hide her in his lodgings if he chose to intervene—something took him by surprise, and Hook was rarely taken by much of anything. 

The tallest man—the one who seemed to be in charge—stopped abruptly and raised his hand. He lifted his nose to the air as if smelling something on the wind; he looked around in the dark and Hook thought that maybe he looked right at him, his eyes flashing briefly. Hook cautiously took a step forward to see whether it would raise the man's notice, but then one of the lackeys spoke up. 

“What is it, Huntsman?” 

The tall leader did not answer, merely reaching into his pocket. Hook tensed, thinking maybe he was about to be attacked by a knife or gun or some such thing, but what this Huntsman produced was far more interesting. 

The man pulled his hand from his coat with something pinched between thumb and forefinger. Without a word, he flicked his fingers and before him, a green, glowing vortex appeared right there in the quiet street. He jumped in and the others followed, the unmoving form of Emma Swan still between them. 

Without a second thought, Hook ran and jumped into the portal just before it closed. His only thought as he fell was to wonder just how long he planned on chasing after this woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's on the short side. we've got emma's POV coming up next! thank you for reading, seriously.

Hook landed with very little grace on a soft, mossy bed of something or another. He was sprawled out on his belly and as he lifted to his elbows and regarded his surroundings, he felt conflicting emotions: jubilation mixed with dread for he knew in what realm he had landed, and he hadn't been there since the Crocodile stole his hand and his love these three hundred years; agitation because the men with the stolen cargo were already crashing away through the Enchanted Forest and away from him; and apprehension because he knew Emma would be confused once she awakened. They had yet to actually meet and already, he felt obligated if not a little protective of her well-being. 

Aware that he had to be as quiet as possible in order to preserve the element of surprise, Hook jumped to his feet and quickly gave chase to the men that he was now rather certain were agents of the self-proclaimed Queen Regina. He may not have lived in Misthaven for a few hundred years, but word has a way of traveling the realms. Even in Neverland, he had heard of the _coup d'etat_ , of the way the Evil Queen had planned on enacting a curse to punish those she felt responsible for her miserable lot in life, or so the rumors said— The Lost Ones were not the best at details much less thoughtful analysis of adult doings. What he had gleaned was that the sorceress cast a sleeping curse on both Queen Snow and King David. Somehow, they had learned of her wicked plans before being enacted, and the royal pair managed to spirit their daughter to safety; apparently, Queen Regina the Usurper needed the lost princess for some nefarious reason or another. Perhaps she could not truly lay claim to the throne without imprisoning the entire, rightful royal family. Perhaps she meant to kill her, or worse. Hook learned long ago that there are worse things than death. 

_No_ . 

A sense of purpose filled him as he gave rose and gave chase, his thoughts filling him with determination the likes of which he'd not felt since his days as a gentleman and officer in his then-Majesty's navy. Princess Emma, prickly and tough as she seemed to be, was innocent in this mess. And he would be damned if someone was going to tarnish that innocence. 

He reached the first Black Knight without a sound, felling him with nothing more than a well-placed kick to the back of the knee and a swipe of his hook. It felt wonderful using the thing as a weapon once again; before pursuing the two men carrying Emma, he felt a thrill course through him— the triumph of returning to his former ways of violence at the hand (ha!) of his hook. He reached into the felled knight's pocket, grinning when his fingers curled around a dagger. It was no cutlass, but it would do in a trice. He took off into a run with a song in his heart. He felt freer than he had in ages. 

Without breaking his stride he leaned down and grabbed an obliging rock and raised his arm, taking careful aim to not hit Emma anywhere on her body. The stone lobbed off the head of the man on the right, his hand immediately reaching for the injury on the back of his head. As Hook had planned, the guard stumbled and dropped his half of the princess before tumbling to the ground. 

“Someone has followed us!” shouted the man on the left, struggling under the weight of his charge. Hook ducked behind a tree and waited for the moment one of them would be idiotic enough to investigate. 

“Stay with the girl. If I fall, you _must_ get her back to the Queen.” This voice belonged to the leader—the Huntsman. Hook noticed that his accent was softer, more cultured than the harsh, clipped tones of the knights. He almost didn't hear the man's approach and wondered if he really were a huntsman, which would be interesting considering he seemed to be trusted by one of the most powerful witches ever to walk the seven realms. 

Hook was even more impressed when this Huntsman lashed out silently, nearly striking him in the heart with a lethal-looking blade. But Captain Hook had not survived for so long by being slow on the uptake; he side-stepped, the Huntsman's dagger sheathing itself in the tree. Hook quickly backed away and the two men faced the other warily, sizing each other up in the dark, shadowy twilight of the Enchanted Forest. 

_Welcome home, Lieutenant Jones_ , Hook thought briefly before lunging with his new dagger. 

The Huntsman was a decent fighter, but Hook was certain he had the advantage until the extraordinary happened: he was attacked by a snarling flash of fury coming from the right. He'd almost forgotten such odd things could occur, he'd been in the land without magic (and a large, bustling urban city) for so long, for he was attacked by a wolf. He managed to get a jab into the animal's ribs, the sharp canine yelp piercing the night as Hook backed away. He cradled his arm and sent a brief supplication of thanks to the gods for sparing his remaining hand. 

The Huntsman gave out a cry as if he were the one stabbed, rushing over to the felled animal and kneeling over its prone body. Hook didn't think twice; he turned and gave chase once again to the remaining abductor, slightly irritated that so much time had passed, and he hadn't killed the leader of the pack. _I'm coming, Emma_ , he thought, forgetting that the Huntsman yet lived in his desperation to reach the princess before she could be delivered to a magical fate that was surely worse than death. 

Hook did not have the burden of a glorious maiden slung over his shoulder, so it did not take long to overtake the final knight. One stab to his side with his hook dropped the man easily; a slash to the carotid finished him off. Hook stood heaving over the body and its burden, hoping that Emma was not hurt by all the commotion. He knelt down and felt for a pulse; her neck was warm, her blood pounding slow and steady. Her golden hair was in complete disarray, and he had to subdue the urge to sweep it to the side and give in to his long-suppressed desire to touch her face. He did not have time for such whimsical, ridiculous notions; he had to find a place to hide her and keep her safe. 

Wiping his hook clean of the man's blood on his garment, he was careful to keep it turned as he wrested the princess from the dead man's arms. She was heavy, but somehow she didn't feel like much of a burden as he hoisted her over his shoulder. He almost whistled a jaunty tune as he walked away, knowing the Huntsman was not in pursuit. That man seemed far too troubled by the loss of his wolf, and besides. Hook sensed the man's heart was not in his assigned task. 

He gave no further thought to Emma's would-be abductors as he ambled through the trees, nor did he devote any thought to what he would say to the princess once she awoke from her slumber. He'd save that explanation for later. Now, he needed to see about shelter, and perhaps two new sets of clothing. Black motorcycle jackets and her red leather one would never be quite the thing in Misthaven. 


	3. Chapter 3

Emma was having one helluva day. When she got home that evening, all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and toss back half a bottle of cab sauvignon, or maybe some of that Single Barrel JD she received for nabbing four skips in one week. Work had been such a bitch lately, and today's jumper was so sneaky and elusive that she had been distracted. It should have been a total shock when some lowlife just showed up in her kitchen but it really, really wasn't; she just stopped where she was, dead tired and already over whatever was about to happen, facing some dirtbag wearing all black and sneering at her. She figured she'd gotten on someone's list—wouldn't be the first time—so she reached out and grabbed the first thing she could throw, a toaster. It nailed the guy in the face, but as he sneered “bitch” before glancing up and over her shoulder, she knew she was already doomed. She felt her arms being pulled behind her back about three seconds before something slammed into her head, and then everything went black. 

Emma could vaguely remember a sick, pulling sensation, like she was skydiving without a parachute, and there was something about the smell of pine trees, and then a comfort she hadn't experienced in a long time, something that reminded her of one of the nicer homes she'd lived in— one of the moms who bought her a brand new parka, a nice one, and the way it warmed her up and made her feel all snug and safe. That's what she remembered feeling, but that was about it. When she came to, she found herself in a cabin all wrapped up in a homemade quilt, which possibly explained the feeling of safety. She was curled up on a rug in front of a cheerful fire, and her jacket was rolled up under her head. 

“What the fuck,” she muttered, trying to sit up and falling back down the instant her head started pounding. She reached for the throbbing part of her head and gingerly pressed into the tender flesh of her scalp, drawing her fingers away to check for blood before wondering just how long she'd been out. Who the fuck had taken her, and where the fuck _was_ she, anyway? 

“Easy, princess,” came a deep, quiet voice somewhere behind her. Emma stiffened, her eyes darting around and looking for some sort of weapon but coming up short. She heard the approach of cautious boot steps and braced for an impact that never came. “I'm not going to hurt you, and you need not worry about your abductors any longer. You ought rest, you've had quite the trying evening.” There was humor in the man's accented voice, and even though all of her career training and decades of experience told her otherwise, she found herself relaxing at the easy, soothing manner in which he spoke. 

“Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I?” 

“Both excellent questions, Princess.” 

“Yeah, not a princess,” she mumbled. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her name, but since she didn't know who he was, she decided to give away nothing. Maybe he was just some do-gooder who'd intervened. A do-gooder with a pleasant voice and a cabin in the middle of nowhere, if the lack of street noise outside was any indication. How the hell had she ended up in a cabin? How long was she out, anyway? 

“My abject apologies.” After a moment he softly added, “Milady.” Emma remained still on the rug, her head throbbing and her throat wishing for water. “Here.” Like magic, a canteen hovered above her head and she sat up quickly, ignoring the groan of pain at the tensing of her muscles and the insistent pounding in her head. She pulled out a stopper from the canteen, which she realized was actually some sort of animal-skin-covered thing, and took a few greedy pulls of clean, cold water. It was fresh and refreshing, and she had the wild thought that it must have come from a stream or something. She was in a cabin, after all. Maybe she'd been taken to the mountains? 

“Easy there,” the man said, chuckling softly. “You do not want an upset stomach in addition to whatever assorted aches and pains you already have. Small, frequent sips are in order.” 

Emma huffed, hating that he sounded like he was probably right. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs, leaning her elbows on her knees and taking a few deep, fortifying breaths. Her vision swam for a moment and she worried that she might pass out again, then she felt a warmth at her back. She should have shrunk away at some strange savior guy putting his hand on her, but her gut told her he meant her no harm, not now, anyway, so she allowed his steadying presence to calm her down and miraculously enough, it did. Her head stopped spinning and she took another breath, following it up with another sip of water. 

A few more rounds of that and Emma started to feel human again. She looked around, noting that her initial impression was right—she was in a small cabin with no windows, but it didn't seem to be too cold. The mountains were cold at night, right? Maybe some remote forest, then. Was she still even in America? Her savior guy had an accent. Had she somehow been dragged off to England? 

“Where the hell am I?” she croaked, taking another swig of water and realizing she'd drunk the entire thing. She put it on the floor next to her and finally turned to face her rescuer, an expectant look on her face. Which quickly turned to stunned appreciation that she quickly schooled into a blank look of indifference. 

Turned out her savior was insanely good-looking, in that dangerous way she always appreciated in a man. He even had a leather jacket on, for Pete's sake. Dark hair, light eyes and an easy smile that showed he probably got what he wanted a lot. She wondered if he wanted anything from her. 

“We are...in a place called Misthaven,” he said after they'd studied each other for what seemed like hours but was probably more like thirty seconds. “We're quite a ways from any town, but there is an inn nearby where I stopped for provisions while you slept. Are you hungry? I asked the proprietress for shortcake, but she looked about ready to smack me over the head because of the late hour, and this was all I could manage to procure.” He reached into a satchel and produced a cloth-wrapped bundle that revealed a loaf of rustic bread, some cheese, and a few slices of cold meat. Emma's stomach let out a loud groan of longing and she laughed uneasily, forgetting for the moment the million questions threatening to burst forth. Misthaven? Never heard of it. But answers could wait. Her savior tore off a chunk of bread and offered the rest of it to her, and she was too hungry to pay much attention to the fact that he didn't eat any of the cheese or meat, saving it all for her. 

He produced a bottle of something brown and smiled apologetically. “I'm afraid I forgot to procure a mug, so I hope you don't mind sharing the bottle.” He took a deep pull and she watched, somewhat mesmerized as she chewed on a piece of ham, his throat bobbing steadily as he gulped at the drink. He wiped the mouth of the bottle before handing it to her with a short nod of his head. She took a cautious sip and noticed it was definitely alcoholic and heavy—ale, probably—and very fortifying. 

When her belly was full, Emma sat back and once again regarded her rescuer. She tried to ignore the way his eyes danced, wondering if it was the reflection of the flames from the fire or if that was just how he looked. He returned her gaze, studying different parts of her face, patiently waiting for the moment she started asking questions. _Well, get on with it, Swan. Quit staring at the hot guy who saved you from kidnappers, kept you warm, and fed you._

“Who are you?” 

A small smile curved his mouth before he answered. “Back in Boston, they called me Lucky Liam.” 

“I've heard of you,” she whispered, slightly shocked at his revelation. Emma had some informants who worked on the fringes of the local criminal element, and she'd heard all about Lucky Liam, the guy without affiliation to any particular family. The guy who commanded a high price and was known to get the job done. He was so good that he never had to worry about bail, at any rate, and Emma's career-honed instincts once again kicked in, screaming at her to get the hell out of there and stay away from him. Then her gut and that weird fluttery feeling she sometimes got simmered inside, calming down what her head was telling her. Letting her know that he was okay, that he could be trusted. She smiled, feeling lighter, and when he gave her a genuine and soft smile in return, the simmering in her gut started boiling with something new but familiar—attraction. Oh, hell. She _would_ be attracted to one of the most dangerous men that roamed the streets of Boston. 

“Have you now?” he said with a smirk, but she could see tension in his frame. She realized he was uncomfortable with his own reputation, around her, anyway. She found comfort in that and smiled before continuing. 

“So, Lucky Liam saves a girl on the other side of the law. I guess I should say thank you?” She took an overlarge sip of the ale and coughed, forgetting how thick and heady the stuff was. 

“Here, milady,” he said gently, coming forward and hunkering down to grab at the now-empty cloth that had wrapped their (her) food. He picked it up and offered it to her, indicating she should wipe her face. When he put his hands on his thighs to brace himself to standing, her eyes widened. Not hand _s_ ; hand and hook. She couldn't help it, she stared at it a moment too long, and she hated that he winced when he caught her perusal. 

“I'd heard so many stories,” she said, laughing uneasily and waving her hand at him. “Didn't realize that was one of the true ones.” 

“I'd imagine the exaggerations of my exploits far exceed any deed I've actually committed,” he said with a chuckle, retreating to his seat a few feet away to give her space. She appreciated that, she really did. He was so easy around her that she asked herself once again what he was doing there. Why he had saved her? Did he think there was bounty in it? Money to be had? 

“Well, I should probably be going, so if you could just point me toward home or maybe the nearest bus stop—“ 

“You _are_ home, princess,” he interrupted softly. “We are where we were both born, if not raised. Misthaven.” Well, _that_ statement made no sense whatsoever. When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Emma grew impatient. 

“Listen. Liam.” He winced, and she assumed it was at the sudden no-nonsense tone she was using, the one she busted out when some smooth-talking sonuvabitch was trying to get out of being cuffed. “I appreciate the rescue and all, but I need to get back to my apartment where the whiskey and ibuprofen live, so if you could just—“ 

“That's not possible, love.” 

“And would you stop with the condescending endearments! I have a name, and I've got news for you: it isn't 'love,' or 'princess,' or 'sweetheart,' 'doll,' 'darling,' or anything else. It's Emma, just Emma.” 

“I know,” he said, his voice still soft and somewhat regretful. “Emma Swan. While we're setting things straight, you ought know that my name here isn't Liam. That was my brother's name.” The finality in his voice and regret in his eyes made her do a double take, but whatever had flickered in his gaze was gone, replaced by wariness. “Here, I go by a much more colorful moniker.” He brandished his hook and she chuckled. 

“Don't tell me. They call you Hook?” 

“Aye, milady. Er, _Emma_.” He smiled at his own correction. “Captain Hook, actually.” 

“Like the fairy tale.” 

“Very much like.” 

“What's your real name?” 

He lifted his chin and looked away from her, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance as though he were coming to some sort of decision about whether to tell her. Finally, after a moment, he croaked out, “Killian. Jones. Killian Jones, at your highness's service.” 

“Killian,” she sighed, trying out the name on her tongue and deciding it suited him. “Stop fucking calling me 'your highness.'” 

“Aye, aye, milady.” 

“Killian—“ 

“Emma.” 

“You're exasperating.” 

“So I've been told.” They shared warm, soft smiles and a moment of silence that was disturbed by a loud crack as a log settled in the fireplace. 

“Your high- _Emma_ ,” he quickly amended when she raised her eyebrows at him. “It is late, and we have a bit of a journey before reaching anything resembling civilization. There is a bed over there,” he said, waving at the dark behind her, “and I insist you get some rest. The gods know when you'll again have the luxury of a mattress, much as it is. I only laid you here on the hearth because your skin was so cold.” 

Emma rose gingerly to her feet, testing out her equilibrium and wincing at the various aches and pains she felt down to her bones. 

“God, what the hell did they do to me? What did they even want? Was this because of that asshole Joseph Hillary, because I didn't think he was connected enough to—“ 

“It isn't because of the asshole Joseph Hillary. I will explain everything come morning. You need rest.” Emma grabbed the quilt that she had been wrapped in and as she approached the bed tucked into the corner she groaned with longing. She slipped underneath the worn blankets, and she was startled by the creak of the door opening. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, shooting back up, her voice high with unreasonable panic. 

“I must see about a change of clothes and some breakfast for the morrow,” he said. “I'll be back before you know it. Rest, Princess.” And with that he shut the door behind him, but not before giving her a pretty intense stare and another one of his gentle smirks. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hook was able to get a few hours' rest once he returned from the inn. At first, the owner of the establishment had regarded him warily, her eyes focusing on his short leather coat and the dark floral cotton poplin he sported. He flashed his brightest smile and asked whether she had any spare sets of clothes lying about; once again she eyed his strange-to-her clothing, so he jiggled his coat pockets, the merry sound of coins pilfered from the black knights drawing her eyes there. She gave a clipped nod and waved her granddaughter over to help. 

They had a small supply of clothes and he wasted no time in picking out some worn but comfortable homespun, deciding that if he kept the jeans from the land without magic that no one would really notice. The princess, on the other hand, was another story; everything the granddaughter showed him was far too thin, worn, or soiled. Hook flashed another smile, this one a little more knowing and coupled with a cocked eyebrow; he told the rather attractive young woman, who gave him an interested once-over, that surely a lass as lovely as she had something a little less peasant and a little more pleasant. Not his finest work, but he was tired and did not wish to leave Emma alone for too long in the event that she awoke, alone and confused, so tired but still charming would have to do. The granddaughter gave him an interested once-over before giving him a cloak, corset, chemise, stockings, garters, overskirt, and other fripperies associated with womanly wear. Granny, as the innkeeper was known, informed him as he left that breakfast was served hot an hour after sunrise, and if he wanted in, he'd better be prompt. He returned to the cottage and changed into his new tunic, grimacing and longing for something with a bit more flair. 

Before tucking himself into the lone chair the cottage afforded, he crept over to the corner, careful to keep his steps light so as not to wake the slumbering princess. Emma was sprawled in repose, her limbs out and taking over the entire bed. He looked at her in fond amusement before rearranging the quilt. He noticed with some surprise that he had a wistful moment in which he wished to soothe her worry, to brush a kiss against the troubled lines marring her brow. He had to tell himself that he had to get her to safety before he continued down this treacherous path of being too much in her presence. She unsettled him, and he only wished to get back to his former life, such as it was. To his vengeance. The only reason he'd survived for so very long. He'd have to think of a way to do it without turning her in to Pan. 

He understood that now—he would not be able to uphold his end of the bargain with the boy demon. How he would dodge Pan, he was uncertain; he only knew that Emma was important, too important to be handed over to anyone wishing her ill. He could feel it down to the marrow in his ancient bones—there was more to this princess than her birthright and her sarcasm. And he, Captain Hook, had no business deciding her fate. He would do what he felt was the honorable course of action come morning: set her straight as regards to her true identity and find someone to help her, someone who was more honorable and trustworthy than some pirate content to drift where the wind took him. 

With those dark thoughts swirling around his brainbox, he banked the fire, made himself as comfortable as was possible in the wooden chair, and managed to fall asleep. 

It seemed like mere minutes had passed when he was awakened by soft moans coming from the corner. As his eyes opened he noted that there were the beginnings of faint sunlight streaming from under the door, and Hook had to suppress his own groans and complaining bones. He looked toward the bed and was greatly amused at the sight of a sleepy Emma, sitting at the side of the bed with her hair tangled in a delightful halo around her head. 

“Got any coffee?” 

He chuckled. “None, but as soon as we are ready, I know where we can find some.” He got up and stretched, his hand and hook brushing the low ceiling as he did so. He walked over to the cloak-wrapped bundle of clothes and wondered if she would put up a fight in putting them on. Steeling himself, he turned and walked over with the clothes tucked under one arm. 

“Emma,” he said. She looked at him warily, sleep puffing her eyes and that crease descending on her forehead. “I'm afraid you're going to have to change into these clothes. This place is... old-fashioned.” He thought of terms he could use to explain it all without frightening her or worse, making her not believe in him. “We need to keep you hidden from the people who abducted you, and I think it best we hide you in plain sight, as they say. I've managed to scrape together a disguise that passes as respectable wear around here, and it's not what you're used to nor what you're entitled to, but it's the best I could do under the circumstances.” He realized he was babbling and near blushed at the thought. Honestly, where was the pirate who used to charm the necklaces from the bosoms of the richest of women with nothing more than the honeyed words from his lips? “I, too, had to change. See?” He turned in an exaggerated manner, showing off his tunic and cloak. She reached over and unwrapped the pile of fabric. 

“A corset.” Her voice was flat as she took the first item from him. “Are you friggin' kidding me? Where are we, Brigadoon?” 

“I... don't know what that is,” he said jauntily, knowing she was referring to one of those pop culture references he was supposed to know, were he from the land without magic. Or the current century. “Emma,” he said softly, earnestly; “please trust me. I'll leave so you can change, and then I will try to explain why you were brought here, why you were taken, and who you really are. We're going for a hot breakfast at the same place I found these clothes.” 

“You didn't steal them, did you?” she asked warily, lifting each article and regarding them as though they were serpents or one of her bail jumpers. 

“Of course not,” he replied, winking as he turned. “I'll be waiting outside. I couldn't find you shoes, but your boots will do. Simply put your old clothes in my satchel, and we'll be on our way.” He figured he could ditch their American togs later. 

After about fifteen minutes, Hook was growing impatient. He heard sounds of struggle coming from inside the cabin along with a lot of loud, creative, and indignant cursing. He was about to offer assistance when the door swung open. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, a delightful turn of phrase he'd learned that he planned on using the rest of his days, especially in cases like these where they were so appropriate. 

She was resplendent. The corset did what corsets do, accentuating the natural curves of her breasts. Emma was trim and fit from the physicality of her job, and it served her well in the clothes of this land. He certainly appreciated the revealing things the more modern women of that other realm wore, but there was something about the simple peasant garb she sported that called out to him like the accursed sirens of Neverland, an analogy he tried not to dwell on overmuch. 

“That's much better,” he said after realizing he'd been staring as she struggled to straighten the lacing on the bodice. He resisted the urge to offer his assistance, simply waiting while a thrumming began somewhere in his groin and caused his pulse to race a little faster. 

“Yeah, well. I'm kind of worrying about the effect this corset is having on my spleen.” 

“Your discomfort is a cross I'm willing to bear,” he told her chest before raising his gaze to her eyes. She smiled sardonically before putting her hands on her hips. 

“I seem to remember something about breakfast and an explanation?” 

“Right-o, milady.” Hook held out his elbow and swallowed back his delight when she took his arm. It was not a social courtesy followed back in that other world, but as her fingers wrapped around the crook of his elbow and just above the top of his brace, Hook felt a sense of rightness descend on him, like he had offered her his arm a hundred times before, and she had put her hand and her trust on him a hundred times in response. 

“So, where is this inn you're taking me?” Emma asked as they made their way through the forest. “Do you go there often? Do you live all alone out here?” 

Killian cleared his throat uncomfortably, and she could feel the tensing of his arm muscles under her fingers as he shifted. 

“It's called the Red Wolf Inn, and the proprietor is a cantankerous woman who has crossbows decorating the walls. I'm not entirely certain they are ornamental, but the overall effect is rather comforting,” he said with pleasant mockery in his voice. “As for how often I go there, I've only ever been the two times last night. I don't live out here, you see.” 

“You don't...” Emma tried to put the pieces together, and when she realized what he was saying, she felt flustered. “Please tell me that was a friend's cabin we crashed in last night.” 

“I'm afraid the owner is not known to me.” 

“Wait. Are you saying we just crashed in someone's vacation home last night?” 

“Aye.” 

“Killian! Look, I'm no model citizen, but we can't just go around breaking and entering! What if we left something identifying behind? What if they call the cops? Oh my God, this is just great.” Emma pulled her hand from his arm and stomped away, annoyed with him and with herself for putting her trust in a guy she _knew_ was a criminal. “I need you to—“ 

“Your highness, allow me to explain.” 

“And stop calling me that, God!” She wanted to run, she wanted to get back home. She wanted to get the hell out of this ridiculous corset, no matter that it did amazing things to her rack (and made him stare at it, don't think she didn't notice it, Blue Eyes). But she needed him, because she had no idea where she was. 

“Emma.” He sounded so tired of her that she wanted to smack him. 

“Hey, you know what? I've had a pretty shitty past twenty-four hours, so if you could just start telling me what the hell is going on, that would be great.” 

“Fine.” Emma realized that he was no longer following her, and when she whipped around to start hollering at him some more, she was a little dismayed to see a troubled look on his face. He wasn't looking in her direction but rather off in the distance again, and she realized that was a thing he did when he was uncomfortable with what he was about to do: tell her the truth. 

“Your parents are here, and they're in trouble.” 

Oh, okay. 

“They've been...captured by the Queen, and she wants you as well. That's who was behind your abduction last night, I believe; some of the Queen's Black Knights. And I...” He swallowed a couple times, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously. “...I watched it happen. I decided to follow you. I accosted the men and brought you to the first safe place I could find, that lonely little cottage. You needn't worry about the constabulary; I left some coins on the table and cleaned up before we left. That ought to stay anyone from trying to find the people who slept in their bed and used their firewood.” He stopped talking and finally looked over at her, an expectant look on his face. But she could tell he was holding back, that he wasn't giving her the whole story. She could always tell when people weren't being forthright and normally, she let it slide, but not this time, and not with this guy. She'd be damned if he'd keep anything from her, and she didn't stop to examine why it upset her so much that he wasn't being totally honest with her. 

“Wait, wait. A queen has my parents? And wants _me_? What the hell, why? After all this time, my parents are still alive? I mean, I'd always figured they were out there somewhere, but how do you know they're my parents? Were they trying to find me? Are you—are you working for them?” Emma knew there was a tremor in her voice, but hell. She'd had a trying day, she had no idea where she was, she was desperate to run over and start smacking this guy she didn't even know and on top of it all she had _parents_? She was surprised she didn't just break down right there and start crying or screaming or something. 

“Not _a_ queen, _the_ Queen,” he said, “and no, I have never met your parents.” His tone was even and infuriatingly calm. He walked toward her and she just stared at him, daring him to say something, anything else. 

He looked back at her, his expression carefully blank, but he couldn't hide the emotion blazing in his eyes. It was kind of weird how expressive eyes could be—didn't they say something about eyes being the windows to the soul, or whatever? Well, if that were true, then his soul was an old, inviting, and possibly frighteningly deep thing. And she was slowly coming to the realization that she kind of wanted to stare at his soul all day long. But not if he wasn't going to be upfront with her. 

As he looked into her eyes and she looked back, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He took a deep breath and without breaking their intense eye contact, he began to speak. 

“Emma. You are the daughter of Queen Snow White and David, the Prince Consort. Before you were born, Queen Snow's stepmother Regina threatened to take the throne and cast a curse on the entire land, but before she could do so, your parents managed to send you away to the Land Without Magic. That's where you've been these twenty-nine years; the day you were born, you were sent there. I'm not sure to what purpose Queen Regina wants you, but I'm guessing it's not to shower you with gifts as she has your parents under a sleeping spell. Make no mistake, the woman means you harm. She sent henchman across realms to abduct you, and trust me when I say: travel between the realms is nigh on impossible. I, myself, was banished there two years ago, and I am lucky to have been able to return, although I'm sorry that the only reason I was able to do so was because you seemed in need of assistance.” 

He finished speaking, his eyes still on her face, searching for a reaction, she guessed. But what could she say? Except maybe: 

“You're a crazy person.” 

He sighed heavily. “I know this all sounds rather ludicrous, but I am in earnest. Magic exists. You are from this land with magic and fairy tales.” 

“Like Snow White and Captain Hook.” 

“As you see.” A mocking smile curled his lip as he held his hook out to the side. 

“You're a pirate.” 

“A good one.” 

“Who was banished to my world.” 

“ _This_ is your world, highness.” 

“I'm not a princess. Okay, so. The reason I was abandoned as a baby was so my parents could save me from some evil queen?” 

“ _The_ Evil Queen.” 

“Who wants what with me, again?” 

“I am not certain.” 

“Okay, so where do you fit in all of this? You just happened to be there the moment I was getting abducted by the Evil Queen's Evil Henchmen? That seems—“ But she was cut off by a rustling sound somewhere behind her. She suddenly realized that there were no sounds coming from the forest, and a churning of warning sparked in her belly. 

“We need to go,” Killian said, a note of urgency in his voice. He reached out and turned her around, his hook at her back as he led her away. She shivered at his touch, and it wasn't necessarily because she was frightened at whatever was lurking behind the trees, and it definitely wasn't because of the hook. “I'll explain it better once we're out of the woods.” Emma said no more as he led the way, swallowing her misgivings and tucking away the uneasy feeling that even though what he said was obviously the most ridiculous explanation of all time for what was happening to her, deep down inside? She knew he wasn't lying. 


	5. Chapter 5

As Hook led them toward the Red Wolf Inn, his mind was a tangle of seemingly disparate thoughts. What was he doing, exactly? Was he mad, defying Pan like this? Did Emma believe him, and if not, why did she trust him in such a short amount of time? Everything he saw of her in the weeks that he'd watched her indicated she did not put her trust in anyone, so why was she following him so easily? Was it because she had no other recourse? Was she merely biding her time until he brought her somewhere and she could leave him? 

That thought nearly brought him up short. He felt despair wash over him, for he knew that was exactly what would happen. She, too, was a survivor; she was merely keeping with him until an opportunity to leave presented itself. He knew that he would have to allow it. He couldn't possibly bring this woman to Pan, and he certainly couldn't allow her to fall into the hands of the Evil Queen. He merely had to find a hero type, someone who could protect her and keep her safe. Then he could be on his way. 

_Well done, Hook_ , he scolded himself. _Pan's retribution will be swift. This is what happens when you put yourself through the trouble of behaving nobly_. __For the first time in ages, Hook wondered if his death was finally at hand, and the only thing that prevented him from fighting it was the brief acknowledgment that if he died so that Emma could live, then maybe his soul would not burn eternally. Surely, the gods would look upon him with favor for this small bit of nobility, even were it to occur at the end of his life?

A familiar shape looming in the distance began to appear, and Hook inhaled a sharp, crisp breath of dread. Here they would part ways; Emma would leave him, and he would do his best to keep Pan from her. He'd attempt once more to convince her of the truth. Perhaps he could find a practitioner to demonstrate some magic. Emma seemed the type who needed proof presented before her very eyes. 

“The Red Wolf Inn,” she read as they approached the road on which it lay, her eyes squinting to read the sign jutting from the eaves of the roof. “Oh, God. I smell food.” 

Hook chuckled and matched her increased pace, rushing to get the door before she did. He reached out to open it just as she got there, smirking at her annoyance with his chivalry. 

“Old-fashioned, love.” 

“Thank you,” she said with exasperation. 

“After you, highness.” 

The breakfast hour was in full swing, and if the sheer number of customers was any indication, the quality of the food was excellent. Hook realized he was famished, what with giving nearly all their food to Emma the previous night. 

He located a table near the back and led her there, careful to keep his hook out of sight. He hadn't been in Misthaven since his early days as a marauder some three hundred years hence, but people have a long memory and in this realm, one never know who lived much longer than the standard human. He did not wish it known that he was back—it would make it that much easier for Pan's network to find him once he separated himself from the princess. 

“So, you came back. With...your friend,” came a voice once he'd seated himself, his back to the wall so he could watch the door. He already knew they could escape through the kitchens should the need arise. 

“Aye, good morning. I hope we're on time for that breakfast promised by your grandmother?” Hook put on his most winsome smile (the lass was incredibly attractive, after all, even if her eyes were an inviting blue rather than his currently preferred irritable green). 

“Sure, Granny actually set aside two plates in case you... I'm sorry, do we know each other?” The granddaughter paused, her form quite still as she looked at Emma—stared, really, a look of intense interest on her face. 

“Um, no? I'm pretty new around here,” Emma said with trepidation. Hook could feel the hesitation in her voice despite the fact that she was handling the entire situation rather well. 

“There's something about the shape of your eyes...” the woman said, cocking one hip and resting her hand there. Hook longingly thought of his promised breakfast and wondered if there was coffee this far away from the capital. He steadily ignored that once breakfast was over and done with, the princess would leave his side and be on her way toward her destiny. 

“Hey, Granny! C'mere!” the granddaughter called out over her shoulder. “Granny knows everyone,” she said, winking at Hook and grinning at Emma. 

“No, really. You don't know me, I've never—“ 

“What is it, Red?” came Granny's cantankerous voice. She ambled over to their corner table and fixed Hook with a stern glare. “Oh, so you came back, after all. Never knew a pirate to keep his word before.” 

“How did—“ 

“Sonny, you don't live as long as I have around here without learning how to spot a criminal on sight, although I must say, you're the most _polite_ pirate I've ever come across,” Granny told him, bustling up to the table with two steaming plates piled with eggs, sausages, and fried potatoes. “You're lucky, pirate. I _just_ made some shortcake, and there are berries and clotted cream if you're interested and you've still got coins to throw around.” 

“I didn't know you were making your shortcake today, Granny. You usually only make that when—“ 

“Hush, Red. Don't you have other tables to wait?” 

“Yes,” Red said, pouting and turning. Then she whipped back around with a bright smile. “Wait! I almost forgot why I called you over.” She took the plates from Granny and near dropped them as she placed them on the table. Emma didn't wait, merely taking the fork absent-mindedly offered by Red and tucking into her eggs. 

“Well, spit it out, girl!” 

“Doesn't she look familiar?” 

Granny pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a step closer to the ravenous Emma, who was eating with gusto. Granny tutted twice before bellowing over her shoulder. 

“Leroy! Bring me those shortcakes! These two are skin and bone!” 

Hook merely shook his head and began digging into his own potatoes, suppressing the grin threatening to direct itself at this woman who obviously liked him, despite his being a pirate. As he chewed the simple but well-prepared fare, he waited with anxious anticipation for this Leroy to appear, relishing the thought of warm shortcake and completely ignoring the sinking sensation in his gut. Both Granny and Red were still standing there, eying Emma, and one did not survive for hundreds of years without honing their instincts. Something auspicious was about to occur; he could feel it in his bones. 

His mind told his bones that this was going to be the turning point. He would finish his food and then be on his way. 

A dwarf bearing a platter and a caustic sneer approached the table. “All right, sister. I've got your shortcake and berries, although why we're suddenly serving dessert this early is—“ 

But the dwarf did not finish his thought. And what's worse, he dropped the platter of delectable-looking cakes. 

Hook looked up and saw that the small man had a look of disbelief on his face. His jaw hung open and his entire form was still, reminding Hook of those charlatans who stood in parks back in Boston and pretended to be statues for money. 

After a moment, this Leroy took a step toward Emma before getting down on one knee and bowing his head. He whipped his cap off and squeezed it between his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white with the effort. 

“Your highness,” Leroy breathed, somewhat reverently. “I always knew you'd return to save us.” 

Emma stopped chewing. She looked around for a glass or tankard of something, but when nothing magically appeared she swallowed her food, her throat feeling dry and the urge to cough briefly taking her mind off the gruff man kneeling before her. 

When she felt able to speak she glanced at Killian, whose eyes were pointedly fixed on his food. She could see discomfort on his face, could sense the rigidity of his body. A slow churn started below her stomach, that same feeling that fired into a frenzy a half second before a jumper was going to bolt. 

The wild thought occurred to her that Killian had somehow set this up when he was here the night before, had paid these people to do this so... what, so he could get out of saving her ass? Get away from her? No, that wasn't it. She knew it even as she thought it. 

She knew the truth before she really _knew_ the truth. And Killian had told her the truth. 

But she didn't want that to be the truth, she really didn't. Because it was dumb. Abandoned princesses and magic and evil queens were in books, and Emma's life was no Harry Potter story. 

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” she finally told the very short man before turning back to her plate of food. She shoveled a giant mouthful of potatoes into her mouth and realized with dismay that they no longer tasted any good. 

“Begging your pardon, your highness, but that's not possible. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere; you have your mother's eyes, even if they're green instead of the loveliest brown I've ever seen. And your hair is blonde like David's whereas Snow's—I mean, _Queen_ Snow's is a shiny and lustrous ebony. But you have the fair skin, fairer than anyone in the land, just like her. The furrow in your brow is the Prince Consort's, though. Beggin' your highness's pardon, of course.” Leroy cleared his throat, his hat still clutched in his hands but his eager eyes were trained on her face. 

“I didn't know you were so poetic, Leroy.” 

“Shh,” he hissed at Red before turning expectantly back to Emma. She continued to ignore his entreaty, automatically chewing and swallowing. She didn't even look at Killian though she really, really wanted to; she simply kept eating and hoping that this was all some seriously whacked-out dream. That she'd wake up on the floor of her kitchen with a bump on her head and like, a warning note pinned to her cutting board with a knife. 

“You're right, Grumpy,” said Granny, her voice softer and lacking its previous crankiness. “It's her. Princess Emma.” She sounded full of wonder and Emma felt a new note in her belly, a warm sort of glow, and it had nothing to do with the food. “You're the spitting image of your mother.” Granny did a surprisingly graceful curtsey before cuffing Red in the arm; the girl in turn curtsied with a little head bob, her movements lacking the practiced grace of her grandmother's. 

Emma suddenly realized that the entire inn had gone silent, and all eyes were trained on their corner. People began standing; men removed their hats and women had these hopeful looks in their eyes, and all of it was making her feel panicky. But it was nothing to the outright terror she felt as one by one, every single person in that inn either curtsied or knelt to the floor, and all of them had their hands clasped to their chests. 

“Princess Emma,” everyone in the room murmured in a soft storm of simultaneous, reverential joy. 

Well, everyone except for one person. 


	6. Chapter 6

Emma looked over at Killian, who had stopped eating. His fork was laid across his plate, and he was looking at her with a mix of “sorry I wasn't lying” and extreme sadness. It made her want to cry. Then she started to feel angry about it, and she wasn't even sure why. He seemed to sense that she was feeling overwhelmed because he dropped the hangdog look and quirked his lips. Then he mouthed, “told you,” and she was so annoyed she had to smile. Which was, she figured, why he did it. Any other guy pulled that and she would have flipped him the bird, but something about Killian Jones made it okay. Appealing, even. 

Then she remembered why she needed to be annoyed out of her emotional turmoil in the first place, and she started feeling overwhelmed again. 

There was no way Killian could have created such an elaborate prank, none. The way these people were staring at her like she was... some kind of savior; that kind of thing can't be faked. 

But a princess? _Really_? They were wrong. These people thought she _looked_ like their princess, that was all. 

_You have your mother's eyes._ Like in Harry Potter. 

Emma was feeling very, very confused. And no longer hungry. 

_But what if the other stuff he said was true, too?_ her mind whispered. She ignored that. No way that was true, too. Magic didn't exist. Neither did abandoned princesses, for that matter. This was all some mistake, it had to be. She just needed to find a phone, and all would be fine. She'd be home by the end of the day. 

Something told her she wouldn't be finding a phone anywhere in this crazy inn. 

“You all right?” Killian asked, his voice meant for her ears only. He had leaned forward, his hand on the table and sliding across toward her. She wanted to grab it and squeeze it, but she resisted the urge. 

“Yeah, no.” 

Leroy had gotten up and backed off, and Emma noticed that Granny and Red had also walked away, which seemed to serve as a cue for the rest of the room to go back to eating, but a lot of them kept shooting surreptitious glances in her direction. She decided to ignore them and turned to Killian, relieved that he wasn't looking at her like they all were. No, he still seemed the same—a little stand-offish, a little apologetic, and maybe a little like he wanted to devour her whole. But also that caution thing, like he was treading lightly, and she was getting a little tired of that. She wasn't delicate, dammit. She wanted to know what it was he was keeping from her, but she hadn't even known him a day. She hated that she felt like she had a right to know. 

He hunched forward and she did the same, knowing that anything they said could be overheard by all the patrons in the inn. She didn't know what he was going to say, but she knew that she definitely didn't want anyone else to hear it. 

“I wish there was some way I could make this easier on you, love.” He even _sounded_ apologetic, and Emma sort of wished he wouldn't do that. She had the distinct feeling that her life was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated, and she wanted at least one person to be straight with her. “But these are good people. I know, I've spent enough time with the bad sort. They won't turn you in to the queen, and they're your best bet for figuring out your next step. The way that Leroy was talking made it sound like he knew Snow White, and the reverence with which he spoke makes me think he'll help you. They'll all help you. I do believe they've been under the yoke of the Evil Queen for far too long. It won't be easy, but reclaiming your throne and finding a way to wake your parents is something I firmly believe you are capable of, and I'd like to wish you well. You're strong, Emma. This is your birthright. Seize it.” He sat back and the way he was looking at her, like he really _believed_ in her, nearly took her breath away. Almost as much as the way it sounded like he was saying good-bye. 

_No_ . 

“Wait. You're leaving.” 

He did that thing where he looked away at some fixed point in the beams of the ceiling before rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye, highness. I think that best, don't you? A pirate's no companion for a princess. Especially not the lost princess of Misthaven.” 

“I'm not the lost princess of Misthaven. But...” Her objections fell away from her lips because she wasn't even sure what reasons she could give to make him stay. _Because I don't want you to go_ didn't seem good enough a reason. _Maybe it's the best reason_ , came a soft voice that seemed to come from deep down in her gut. 

Killian opened his mouth to reply but he, too, seemed stuck on what to say. They simply looked at each other for a few beats, the rest of the room kind of falling away. 

Emma didn't want to say good-bye, so she prolonged the moment by studying his face. She noticed how the rakish scar on his cheek looked like a straight line when she was facing him head-on, but it curved when viewed in profile, like when he looked away, deciding whether to tell the truth. She saw that he had a few freckles on his cheeks and some moles down his neck, and she wondered if they were across his shoulders and chest as well. She noticed that one eyebrow—the one he was always cocking—was slightly higher than the other, probably due to its frequent abuse. 

She noticed that the corner of his lips twitched a lot, like he had to keep himself from smiling at her constantly. 

He opened his mouth once again, but whatever he was going to say was drowned out by the arrival of Granny and Leroy, the latter bearing a new platter of cakes and the both of them looking so damned happy to be there. 

“Your highness,” said Leroy, bowing his head and presenting her with the shortcake. “Granny says your pirate bodyguard asked for these, probably because you liked them. Snow liked them, too, but she preferred raspberries. Good thing we made a lot, right, Granny?” 

“Actually, I—“ 

“And Sneezy, I mean Clark, picked these blueberries himself. Don't worry, we washed them twice.” 

Emma smiled, giving up on correcting the man and ignoring the names Grumpy and Sneezy and Snow White, but she couldn't help but notice Killian's slightly embarrassed smile. Pirates like shortcake. Who knew? Leroy presented her with a spoon and fixed her a plate, heaping berries and a big helping of lovely, rich cream on top of the entire thing. It looked delicious, and Emma felt the full force of her hunger return. These people could think she was royalty all they wanted if it meant dessert with breakfast like this. 

Leroy and Granny stood there with expectant looks on their faces, and Emma smiled for lack of a better response. Were they going to watch her eat it? 

“Umm, would you like some shortcake?” 

“I suppose I can help myself,” he said, utterly amused. If she were anywhere else, she'd just hand him hers, but something told her these people would take offense at that. Instead, she took the plate he had grabbed and fixed him his own dessert. He sat back, looking a little surprised and a lot pleased. Emma noticed from the corner of her eye that Granny and Leroy seemed scandalized, and she had to bury the grin threatening to dance on her lips. Princess or no, pirate or criminal or whatever or no, she wasn't above making a man a plate. He had, after all, gone to an awful lot of trouble to keep her safe. 

And now he was leaving. 

With that thought, she practically shoved the confection at him, miserably reaching for her spoon once he'd taken his plate and digging into her own. She sighed; it really was delicious, and she was determined to enjoy her god damned blueberry shortcake. 

After they'd scraped their plates clean (it was even better than it looked), Emma sat back with a groan. The entire time the two of them had slowly enjoyed the dessert, neither of them speaking, like they were in no rush to leave each other. At least, that's what it felt like to her. She decided as she was eating that she would go right after she was finished. He was leaving, anyway, so she'd beat him it and leave first. Wasn't that always the best way? She'd simply thank him and go. She could figure out where the hell she was just fine on her own. 

“Was it to your liking, your highness?” 

Leroy was there, taking their empty plates and smiling. Well, smiling at Emma, anyway. He directed a very pointed and dramatic scowl at Killian and muttered something about “unworthy company for Snow's daughter.” That seemed to amuse Killian and they shared amused smiles, but Emma could see discomfort behind his eyes. She hoped Leroy's comment hadn't gotten to him or anything; it was pretty obvious that Leroy had taken a shine to her just because he thought she was his missing princess or whatever. Besides, Killian was much too confident to let some little insult muttered under the breath to get to him, right? 

Then why did Killian look so uncomfortable? 

Oh, sure. Probably because he needed to get going. To leave her. 

“Well, I'll just—“ But Killian was interrupted by the arrival of a beaming Granny and Red. 

“So, your highness. What's the plan?” 

“The plan?” 

“Yeah, you know. The prophecy and all.” 

Emma looked at Killian, who looked as perplexed as she felt. 

“Prophecy.” Killian's voice was flat, and while she certainly didn't believe in prophecies, a feeling of dread overtook her. The way his eyes seemed hooded didn't help. Like he was trying to hide a dawning realization or something. 

“Yeah, you know,” Granny said, peering at Emma with a look of comprehension of her own. “Or you _don't_ know. It's been said that the princess would return to save us all from the Queen's curse. Give us back our happy endings.” 

Oh. The lost princess business. Of course there was a prophecy involved; of _course_. Because those things happen. Emma could feel her impatience with the situation growing. Could these people not see that she was just an ordinary girl? That extraordinary things don't happen to people like her? 

“Listen, Granny. You all seem nice and you've been very kind, but I'm afraid there's been some terrible mistake. I'm really not your princess, and I'm not sure what kind of trouble you guys are in or anything, but I'm just an orphan who's been taken away from my home, and I really need to get back now. Where are we, anyway? Are we in America? I live in Boston and I have a job, and I need to...” But Emma trailed off as she looked at the perplexed looks on both Granny and Red's faces. Well, Red looked perplexed. Granny looked concerned. 

“I don't want to correct a princess, but girl, I think you're the one who's confused. You're our princess, that much I know. I can feel it in my bones. The prophecy said thirty years, and it's been thirty years. Right, Leroy?” The short man had joined them, and his arms were crossed. He was staring accusingly at Killian as if he'd done something, and Emma would have laughed at the way Leroy seemed so distrustful of the handsome man who'd rescued her if like, any of this was even a little bit funny at all. 

“Thirty years,” Leroy confirmed with a nod of his head. “You're thirty, right?” 

“Twenty-nine, actually. Or wait, what's today?” Emma felt a giddy little twirl in her stomach when she realized what day it was, but she really didn't want to acknowledge it. 

“Almost Naming Day,” Red said with a soft smile. “Tomorrow's your birthday, right?” 

“That doesn't mean—“ 

“Tomorrow's your birthday?” Killian asked. Emma looked over at him and was momentarily distracted from all her gut feelings yelling _they're right_ by the smirk that lit up his face. “Happy birthday, love.” 

“Look—“ 

“You know what? I know how we can settle this. Blue!” Granny's sudden bellow startled everyone, and for one wild moment, Emma thought maybe the old woman had lost her damned mind. 

But that's when it happened. The extraordinary. 

When she was little, like nine or so, Emma had gone to this birthday party for Melissa McAllister, the most popular girl in the fourth grade. It had been a blanket invitation otherwise there's no way Emma would have been invited; not only was she the new girl, but she was also the orphan kid. Her whole childhood, no one ever got close enough to make friends with her. When you're the odd man out, no one wants to know you lest the thing that sets you apart rubs off on them or something. It was one of the reasons she was always running away when she was a kid—she hated being the new orphan kid. Double whammy. But Melissa's mother had invited absolutely everyone, and Emma's foster mother at the time insisted she go, probably so she'd be out of her hair for a few hours. 

It was the first birthday party she'd ever been invited to, and Emma didn't know what to do. She didn't want to play party games, and it wasn't cake time, so she just sat on the couch while all the other kids ran around and made general nuisances of themselves. Emma impatiently waited for one of the sullen foster teen siblings to pick her up, but then Mrs. McAllister brought out the magic show. 

Emma had only ever seen magicians on TV, and she knew better now, of course, but back then, seeing a guy come out and do all sorts of cool tricks like making a thousand scarves appear from his fist and guessing the right cards and stuff was amazing when it was right in front of her. Then he'd called on her to be his assistant, and when he announced he was going to pull a rabbit from his hat, just like on Sesame Street, she'd scoffed with the rest of the kids. 

Until he did it, he really fucking did it. Emma could remember the wonderment she'd felt, that bright ray of happiness beaming through her skepticism, like she was glad to be proven wrong. 

She wasn't sure she was feeling that in this moment, though. Because what was beaming through her current skepticism was something more like sheer fucking disbelief, and maybe wondering if she was having a fever dream or if Leroy had slipped some LSD in the shortcake. 

Because out of thin air appeared...well. A fairy. A fucking tiny-ass little person in a spangly blue dress with wings and a wand, floating in front of her face _fairy_. 

“Emma,” the little thing said warmly, and Emma almost passed out. She felt fingers grip hers and squeeze, and she was grateful for the anchor. She didn't look at Killian because she didn't think she could take whatever look was on his face; she merely turned her hand in his until their fingers wove their way around each other and then held on like her life depended on it. Maybe it did. 

“I haven't seen you in...well, almost thirty years, I suppose. I'm glad you found your way home.” 

Emma just blinked in response. It was all she had. 

“I was there the day you were born, you know. You were such a beautiful baby. Loud and displeased, but beautiful.” She felt Killian's hand shaking and glanced at him; the fucker was _laughing_. 

“I can see this is all too much for you, dear,” the fairy said softly. She fluttered her wings and came a little closer but not too close, for which Emma was grateful. “Honestly, Granny. You shouldn't overwhelm the princess like this. She was sent to the Land without Magic, and this must all be a shock for her. How did you get here, Princess Emma?” 

Emma didn't know what to say and honestly, she was kind of feeling a little overwhelmed and a lot dead inside. Thankfully, Killian spoke up. 

“Er, I'm afraid that would be my fault, milady. I witnessed the princess being abducted and jumped into the portal to give chase to the four Black Knights who took her. It was rather fortuitous for me, as I'd been searching a way to return home for a while. I—“ 

“You saved the princess,” Leroy said flatly, disbelief coloring his tone. 

“Indeed. I took out the knights, and—“ 

“You took out four of the Black Knights?” 

“Well, I think one of them wasn't a knight, but—“ 

“ _Four_ of them?” 

“Yes,” Killian said impatiently. Emma's hand was still clasped with his and she squeezed gently; he calmed down instantly and looked at their joined hands resting on the table. “Yes,” he repeated, calmer this time. “I killed three, but the Huntsman got away—“ 

“The Huntsman!” gasped Granny and Red in unison. Leroy scowled. 

“Yes, his wolf attacked me and he was distracted when I hurt the thing.” Emma noticed both Granny and Red flinch at that and wondered what that was about. “I found an abandoned, one-room cottage where we holed up for the night. Then—“ 

“You put our princess in a _cottage_? You slept in the same _room_?” demanded Leroy, and really, this was too much. Killian, however, looked amused. 

“I assure you, everything was done properly. I slept on a chair. I have no designs on your princess.” 

Oh. Well. 

Emma drew her hand away, noticing for the first time how cold it was in the inn without his skin warming hers. 

Killian drew his hand back and put it in his lap. He looked down at it before continuing. 

“I had heard the rumors of the queen and drew my own conclusions about Em—about her highness's true identity. That's why I brought her here; I understand that she has a birthright, but I hadn't heard about the prophecy. I haven't been back in Misthaven in...many years.” He finished speaking and when no one responded, he looked up. 

“Who are you?” the fairy asked, turning her entire little body to face him. 

“Liam,” he told her after working his jaw for a couple seconds. Emma realized he wasn't going to tell anyone his real name, even though she knew. The thought made her flush with pleasure. 

The fairy, however, tilted her head and regarded him for a moment, an enigmatic smile lighting her face. 

“No, that's not it. But that's all right; keep your secrets. I suspect it's better that way. What's your part in all of this, Liam?” 

“I'm nothing more than a pirate, milady, taking advantage of an opportunity.” The fairy smiled again, and if she weren't so tiny and hard to see, Emma could have sworn she shook her head with fondness. 

“I don't think so.” Killian didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he looked down at his lap again, saying nothing as the _fairy_ ( _Seriously?_ ) continued. She turned to Emma and smiled. 

“You've chosen a good companion, your highness. And honestly, your timing couldn't be more perfect. The Queen is—“ 

“Okay, look. I don't know what your...deal is,” Emma said, waving her hand at the floating (Fluttering? Flying?) woman, “but I'm not your princess. I'm just a girl trying to make her way home.” 

The fairy's tinkling laughter filled the air and with it, Emma somehow felt better, lighter. She grinned, and Killian let out this utterly devestating smile of delight, like he was feeling as good as she was. Once the fairy's laughter died down, so did the good feeling, which was enhanced by the speech that followed. 

“Princess Emma! I assure you. You're our princess, all right. You were found in a forest as an infant, right? By a little red-haired boy? All wrapped up in a beautiful, lovingly knit white blanket with 'Emma' stitched into it with purple thread? The Widow Lucas over there—Granny—“ and the fairy nodded toward a beaming Granny, “made that for you.” 

“Sure did,” the woman said with pride glowing behind her glasses. 

With Leroy grumbling about how _he_ would have knit her things given the time, the fairy turned back to Emma with an expectant look on her face. Everyone seemed to _expect_ things from her. 

“That—“ Emma started to say. Once she began speaking everyone hushed immediately, like what she said was important. 

Or maybe because they thought she was royalty, and interrupting princesses is rude? 

But she didn't know how to finish her own sentence, or what she even wanted to say. Yeah, those things the Blue Fairy (oh God, she _just_ got that. That was from _Pinocchio_ , right?) said, they were all true. So what? 

_So...I'm a Princess_ , her gut told her. 

She was feeling it, the need to bolt. She had to get out of there. Like, now. 

Killian's hand found hers on the table again. He brushed his fingertips along her knuckles two times before clasping her fingers with his and giving her hand a squeeze. It reassured her, anchored her; she was confused and disbelieving. But underneath the tumult was a warm certainty that everything, for once, would be okay, which was as weird as it was comforting. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up and she smiled in response before turning to look at all those people who seemed very nice and very “hey, save us.” Leroy was scowling at Killian, and Granny's eyebrow was cocked. Blue looked pointedly down at Emma and Killian's hands, which were still clasped together. Emma suppressed another urge to bolt, but she needed a moment to think. Alone. 

“I need air.” 


	7. Chapter 7

“I need air.” 

Emma stood and Hook automatically stood in kind; he was somewhat amused that the gentlemanly habits ingrained in him from so long ago surfaced at the oddest of moments. As Emma rose so did everyone in the inn, their heads bobbing, women dipping in curtsey, some men tugging at their forelocks, if they had them. She looked exasperated at that and turned her body toward the entrance, her eyes darting about for what he assumed was the quickest path out the door. 

“Emma, wait.” The dwarf looked shocked when Hook reached out to stay Emma's panicking, putting his hand on her forearm. Granny glared at his audacity and the Blue Fairy merely looked amused. Emma pulled away from his light touch and made for the door; Hook decided to give her a moment before checking on her—he was not entirely comfortable with leaving her alone. Although, he supposed, he'd have to get used to that feeling, as he was going to be on his way. Soon. As soon as he felt these good people would help her. 

With a bleak feeling and a sinking in his gut, Hook left the table, deciding to check the periphery outside. He could no longer tolerate the suspicious looks those in the inn felt free to shoot his way now that their Princess was no longer with him. 

He tried to pay Granny, but that good woman shot him an offended glare when he held out some coin. She told him in gruff tones that she could hardly charge her royal highness and “her...escort?” The word was uttered with incredulity and a twinkle behind the woman's glasses. _Escort_. Hook could feel a blush rising up his face all the way to the tips of his ears, like those temperature gauges in the cartoons he'd seen back in that other place, the picture fading to muted tones along with his other memories of then. 

Luckily, the kitchens were mostly empty as he made his exit. _Escort_. The implication of the word in this realm was much like the old world version—not a highly paid prostitute like it was in the land without magic (if only), but of a suitor. Or, he supposed it was possible the meaning had changed in the 300-odd years since he'd been there. Perhaps Granny meant “protector,” for that was yet another meaning. He wondered what they all thought of his role at the princess's side. What _she_ thought. Why he cared. 

Hook exhaled, long and deep, as he made his way outside. The back door opened to a copse of trees, and he circled the inn, keeping ever-watchful for a flash of black or other dangers lurking in the forest. 

He spied Emma, who was somewhat removed from the main road. She seemed greatly disturbed so he kept his distance, retreating to the back entrance. He searched his back pockets, feeling for a crinkle of paper. Deciding to risk the anachronism (does there exist a term for out of _realm_ rather than time? He supposed he was both), he pulled out the soft pack of Lucky Strikes and shook one loose. He looked at it with regret; it was the last. 

Hook reached into his front pocket for his Zippo (etched with an anchor and a shamrock, a gift from the Fitzpatrick family he'd had occasion to work for) and flicked it with his thumb. The familiar action was soothing; he held the lighter away from him, watching the flame, focusing on the way the blue turned to orange, occasionally tapping the metal edges with the ring resting at the base of his thumb. 

After a minute or so he shut the cap by slapping it against his thigh with a satisfying snap. He held up his soft pack and shook the final cigarette loose, sticking it on his lip and smiling around it. A final goodbye. 

He flipped the Zippo open once more and flicked it, tilting his neck to light the smoke and relishing the rasp of paper as it caught fire. The pleasant burn as he inhaled was both comforting and stifling. 

“You know, those things'll kill you.” 

Hook pinched the cigarette and drew it down, releasing a thin plume of smoke and an appreciative grin. 

“Can they? I've never heard such a thing. As opposed to all of the other harmless things I've picked up over the years?” 

“Is it like, some sort of rule that bad boys have to have all the bad habits?” 

“I don't chew my nails.” 

“Oh, good,” she said dryly, coming to join him in leaning against the wall of the inn. “At least there's that.” 

“Aye, there is that.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips once again and inhaled slowly before releasing it. “You seem to be holding up well, highness.” Emma said nothing, but she wrapped her arms about her torso and shivered slightly. He automatically moved to offer his cloak but stilled his own movement; he knew she was not hugging herself for warmth. 

“They really believe I'm their princess, don't they.” It was not a true inquiry, but he nodded nonetheless. 

“Fairies really are real.” He nodded again. “And magic.” 

“Aye, Princess.” He talked around the cigarette, watching it bob as he spoke rather than stare at her as his eyes seemed to want to do. 

“Would you—“ She rounded on him, a look of irritation on her face. She stepped toward him and before he knew what she was about, she pinched the cigarette between thumb and forefinger with her other hand, her fingertips nearly touching his lips. She pulled the cigarette from his mouth and balanced it between two fingers before bringing it to her own lips and inhaling deep, an utterly cross look on her face. 

Amused, he expected comical hacking and coughing like in the moving pictures he'd occasionally watched, but Emma, the Lost Princess of Misthaven, did no such thing. She closed her eyes and and released the smoke in a steady stream before blindly handing him the smoldering thing. Her nose crinkled as she opened her eyes. 

“ _Ugh_. I forgot how terrible that tastes.” 

He raised his brows. “Is it some rule, then, that orphan runaways pick up all the bad habits?” Her eyes narrowed, but he could see her biting back a grin. 

“Remind me to tell you about the time I jacked an old Volkswagen sometime.” 

“I will that.” He took another hit and offered it to her, wondering what the good people inside the inn would say if they knew that their princess and her pirate escort were sharing a thing like this. If they thought it scandalous that she would lower herself to putting food on a plate for him, they would most likely run him out of town for daring to put his lips on the same thing as she. 

Emma took the cigarette and another hit, then dropped it to the ground and stamped it out. 

“I wasn't done with that!” 

“Smoking's a dirty habit, and I don't think you're going to find a 7/11 around here any time soon, anyway.” 

“You can procure tobacco-like products here for the right price, I'll have you know,” he groused, digging into the dirt with his heel and toeing the cigarette butt into the hole to bury it. 

“Well, as your princess, I command you to quit smoking,” she said wryly. He sneaked a glance and saw that her lips were flat, her eyebrow raised. 

“Yes, your highness,” he said gently, knowing immediately that he would never pick up another vessel by which to smoke again, even though the command was uttered in jest. 

They remained silent for a moment, but it was not an uncomfortable or awkward silence; they merely leaned against the solid walls of the Red Wolf and breathed in the still-crisp morning air. Hook knew that he had no idea what his next move would be, but he was hesitant to move away from Emma. Something, that unerring instinct that had allowed for his survival over realms and centuries, was telling him quite emphatically that he could not leave her to own devices and the perils of a world with which she had no familiarity, even if his own common sense told him that his part in her life was a small one, simply that of the way by which she began her destiny. His chapter in her story would be short and forgettable, perhaps notable only in his graphic death at the hands of the boy king of Neverland. Curious, how the thought of his death engendered no real fear, but the thought that his next move really ought to be leaving Emma with her people twisted his gut and made him feel like that first time he'd gone to sea, when he was so sick he had no idea whether he was even with the horizon or which way was up. 

Which was certainly a sign that he ought to leave. 

“I'm going to go wash up,” she said, interrupting his maudlin thoughts. He nodded by way of response, holding the back door open and feeling unaccountably pleased that she murmured thanks rather than give him that same exasperated look from before when he'd held the door open for her. 

It was the perfect opportunity to simply leave without a goodbye now that he found himself alone, and he would have walked away were it not for the sudden stillness in the forest around them and the far-off clomping of hooves in the distance. He made his way to the front of the inn, looking toward the sounds. What he saw made his blood go still. 

Black Knights. A richly-appointed carriage bearing a bright red crest. It could only be the queen. 

He ran, his body filling with dread, and as he rushed down to the back of the inn and through the kitchen, he noticed with a detached sort of amusement that the dread was not for himself, but for another person. As he burst into the dining room, looking wildly about for any sign of Emma, he realized with some sadness that he had not felt that kind of desperate concern for another person in a very, terribly long time. 

“Where is the princess?” he said with urgency, grabbing a passing Leroy by the elbow. He realized he was breathing hard and gritting his teeth and forced himself to take a large breath. “The Queen is here. She must be hidden.” The dwarf quickly dropped whatever rude retort had been on his lips along with the plates he had been holding. He turned and ran for the stairs, bellowing for Granny at the top of his lungs. 

“Quiet!” Hook hissed to deaf ears. It seemed that once Leroy sounded the alarm, the entire inn erupted in chaotic chatter and generally unsettled bodies. Panicking, his eyes darted about for any sign of long, golden hair and a defensive stance, but there was no sign of Emma anywhere. As the sound of rustling and stomping outside the front door frightened everyone to silence, Hook sent his first prayer to the gods in quite some time that she would remain wherever she was, that she would not be found. He seated himself at the bar and waved for something, anything. As the barkeep hastily dipped a tankard into a barrel of brown ale and placed in front of him, he took a moment to settle his body into its easy insouciance, letting his legs splay out, the heels of his boots hooked on the bottom rung of the stool. He put his left elbow on the bar top and leaned into it, relaxing his face and raising his brow as he took his first sip of the good ale in front of him. He dug into his pocket and produced a coin, but the bar keep waved him away with a firm shake of his head and a thin-lipped smile. 

The door opened with a bang. 

He could hear shuffling but did not turn; he knew the moment the Queen swept into the inn by the stifled gasps from the townsfolk and still, he did not turn. 

“I'm looking for a girl,” came a clear, low voice that was full of the seductive promise of danger. A man could enjoy that voice in the dark, he thought, and it would be painful. At one time in his life that was exactly what he sought, but no longer. No, what Hook yearned for was most definitely light. 

“She is tall and blonde, and most likely dressed very strangely. She is masquerading as the Princess Emma, and she must be stopped,” the Queen said, and he could hear the sneer curling her mouth as she spoke. “You will send word to me should she be seen. This impostor cannot be allowed to roam my kingdom, bringing false hope. The Princess Emma is dead. This is _my_ kingdom now,” she finished, her voice deadly-soft. There was a pause and he could hear someone whispering to her, it was that silent in the the inn. After a moment her voice rang out anew. “You! At the bar. Turn around.” _Well, fuck. Caught, then._

Hook swung around with the tankard of ale in his hand. He sank back against the bar, his left elbow once again leaning insouciantly on the countertop, his hook flashing in front of him. He saw the Queen eye it warily. He brought his drink to his lips and drank deeply, stifling a belch and a rising sense of apprehension. He had to force himself from darting his eyes around to check the progress of the knights, of whether they'd found her yet. 

“Is that the one?” she snapped, addressing a man at her side. With a sinking feeling Hook recognized the Huntsman, but he made no outward reaction at his realization. Instead he set the tankard on the bar behind him and folded his arms, allowing and welcoming the creeping sense of defiance and audacity that was his pirate standard to steal over his body. 

The Huntsman nodded and the Queen pointed a gloved finger at Hook's face. “You! Where is she?” 

“Me?” he said flippantly, pointing at his chest and earning a furious, narrow-eyed gaze that were he not accustomed to much fiercer and less attractive eye-daggers would have quelled him to instant obeisance. 

“Yes, you. Stand before your Queen.” He rose slowly, letting his legs slide to the floor first and allowing the rest of his body to follow. As the queen and her entourage approached the crowd parted, leading her directly to him; he sank into an ostentatious and showy bow, even for him, his back straight and correct, just as he'd been taught all those years ago. As he rose to the angry, fiery eyes of the Evil Queen he'd heard much of, he wondered what it was that she was going to do with Emma, what nefarious and terrible plans she had for the errant princess. The Queen's eyes were cold and calculating, but more than that, they were filled with passionate conviction. She truly believed what she was doing, whatever it was, to be right and true. This was no maniacal megalomaniac; this was a methodical, powerful woman, and to take her lightly would be foolish. 

So to distract her from her focus on Emma, he decided to raise her ire himself. He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it, lips directly to her glove, a cheeky breach of propriety he'd normally save for a woman he wished to seduce. 

She snatched her hand back and appeared annoyed enough to strike his face but didn't. Instead she sneered and looked him over, her eyebrow raising as if she had judged him and found him...interesting. 

“Graham here says you attacked him last night.” 

“Aye, milady. I saw men with a helpless woman and feared the worst. I've a bit of a savior complex, if you want to know the truth.” He faltered slightly, realizing psychological terms were not heard in this realm, but if the queen noticed, she at least understood the gist of his words. 

“You've interfered with my wishes, and I command you to take me to her. Now.” 

“Ah,” he said, sweeping hand and hook out and shaking his head in mock sorrow. “I'm new to these parts, having only recently come to port. I can take you to where she ran off, for she fled the moment she came to. Couldn't handle me handsome face, I'll wager.” It was almost disturbing how easily the pirate came back, almost as if without his permission. Then again, he always reverted to his pirate persona automatically in times of dire need, and what need was more pressing than protecting Emma? He noted and filed away for later perusal that he had no interest in what the Queen would do with _him_ once he'd gotten her away from this inn and the princess. It no longer seemed of import. 

The Queen rolled her eyes at him before chucking her chin at the Huntsman. “Take him,”she commanded. “He can show us where he left her.” As this Graham took a step toward him with a grim look on his face, Hook sidestepped him and strode toward the front entrance. 

“No need for brute force, majesty. Captain Jones, at your majesty's service. Or,” and he turned as he walked, winking at the queen, “you may call me Lucky Liam.” 

He heard a muttered comment about pirates from the queen and chuckled easily. As he made his way to the entrance he tried to ignore the hopeful, shining eyes of all of the peasant patrons in that inn, but he was unable to ignore the begrudging nod of respect from Leroy when he reached the door. He thought he heard the dwarf say, “We'll see to her,” just before exiting, but he was unsure. 


	8. Chapter 8

Emma was _pissed_. 

They wouldn't let her out of this little room, and she was pissed. When she first walked back into the inn, she had actually forgotten everything that had happened in there before, had forgotten the way everyone looked at her with awe, like she was there to deliver them from evil or something ( _you are_ , sang an insistent little humming voice inside of her). Then when she stepped out of the kitchen, the whole room fell silent again, and she worried that everyone would stand up again or something. She put her hands out and smiled, feeling anything but happy, hoping they'd take the hint and stay in their seats and keep eating and making with the merry, or whatever. 

Red came rushing up, wiping her hands on a rag. “Can I help you with something, your highness?” The girl's face looked so kind and hopeful that Emma didn't bother correcting her. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly wanting Killian to be there, though she couldn't figure out why. She turned back around and smiled, trying to force cheer she didn't feel. 

“Yeah, I was just hoping to wash up a little. Is there a bathroom, or?” 

“Oh! Yes, certainly.” Red curtsied awkwardly and then began walking, gesturing for Emma to follow. She led her up some stairs and down a narrow hallway. The floors and walls were made from worn but well-polished wood, and there were some cheerful-looking rag rugs scattered down the entire hall. Red took her to the last door on the left and began chattering away happily while Emma followed her inside. 

“This isn't the nicest room we have, not by any stretch, but it's the only one available. Sorry about that. It's actually my room, but I tidied it up in case you were needing a place to sleep. Your pirate friend,” and here Red turned, a sly smile lighting her face before continuing, “will have to sleep out in the public room. I'm afraid Granny's old-fashioned, and I think Leroy would kill him if he even looked at the place where you slept, much less—.” 

“Okay, first off, it's your room, I can't take it. And secondly, he wouldn't—I mean, we aren't—“ 

“It's okay, your highness. You needn't justify yourself to me. I certainly don't blame you. It isn't often that we get such handsome travelers all the way out here, and certainly not fascinating and dastardly pirates.” Emma didn't know how to even respond to that so she said nothing, merely watching as Red walked over to a pitcher sitting on a small vanity. 

“You can call me Emma, you know,” she offered. Red seemed much less prone to formality than anyone else she'd talked to so far, and she hoped that the devilish twinkle in the girl's eye meant she would be down to stop referring to Emma as a princess. 

“Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea. Granny would scold me, and I get enough of that without giving her a reason. Besides.” She opened a drawer and rummaged around, producing a clean cloth and a hair brush with a soft “a-ha.” “I'm glad you're back. Things have been terrible since you went away.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and she seemed to be lost in thought. She shook her head a little and looked up at Emma, her wide, red lips turning down at the corners. 

“When Regina captured your parents, it was terrible and confusing. No one knew what was happening, and we didn't know if Snow was dead. It was awful. We were friends, you know, me and Snow.” It took Emma a moment, but when she realized something was off, she felt a jolt. 

“Wait. You're like, my age. How were you friends?” 

Red's eyes widened and then she chuckled, shaking her head. “Did no one tell you? I guess not. There's no magic where they sent you, I forgot. Regina, I mean, the Queen, cast a curse on all of us here in the Enchanted Forest.” 

“I thought this place was called Misthaven?” 

“That's the name of your kingdom, yes.” Emma ignored that because she didn't have kingdoms. “But we who live here call it the Enchanted Forest because that's what the other realms call it. Like you lived in the Land without Magic.” Emma could hear the capitals in the name. 

“There are other realms?” Emma was starting to feel panicky again so she clamped down on it and tried to listen to what the woman was telling her. 

“Oh, definitely. We don't generally get people from the realm you were in, though,” Red said, unaware that Emma was growing increasingly agitated. “There, now,” she said, turning and frowning. “Are you well, your highness? I'll just leave you to wash up, then.” Emma opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she didn't know what to say. Thankfully, she was interrupted by a stomping coming from out in the hall and the unmistakeable holler of Leroy. 

He skidded to a halt outside the open door and grasped the jamb, panting heavily. 

“What is it, Grumpy?” 

“Queen. Here,” he said, gasping and putting his hand to his chest. He cleared his throat and looked at Red, a frightened panic taking over his face before speaking clearly. “The Queen is here.” 

Emma looked over at Red, who had a matching look of horror on her face. Emma looked back and forth between the two of them a couple of times before comprehension set in. 

“Wait. The woman who tried to kidnap me?” Leroy gulped and nodded, coming forward and shutting the door. Emma still didn't really know how to react to all of this princess business, but she definitely knew that she didn't want the psycho who thought she was some prophecy to try and nab her again. Her nerves started to flutter and she really, really wished she had her gun to protect herself. What was she going to do? 

_Killian would know what to do._

It was a thought that entered into her head, clear and strong, and her gut seemed to agree as the nervous feeling lessened dramatically. Killian would know what she should do, and he'd know how to keep her safe. She knew it, deep down inside. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. On autopilot, she started walking toward the door to go find him. 

“Your highness, no offense, but no way in hell am I letting you go out there.” 

“Leroy, no offense taken. Now move.” Emma had no time for politeness; she was too _pissed_. If the Queen was coming, then she probably had like, bodyguards or those Black Knight guys who tried to kidnap her. Killian said one of them escaped. Oh, God. What if they arrested him, or hurt him? It would be her fault! 

“Not gonna happen, sister.” He crossed his arms and even though he was short, he looked pretty solid. Emma started assessing all the ways she could take him down before sighing, because he was only trying to keep her safe, too. Everyone wanted her to be safe here. It was weird, and something that would definitely take getting used to. She decided to try a different tactic—being nice. 

“Leroy, we can't leave Liam out there on his own. We have to warn him.” Her voice was gentle, pleading. The little man's eyes narrowed as he scowled, not letting up his stance. 

“Nope. Sorry. Your pirate friend will be fine. He's the one who told us the Queen was coming. He's out there now, no doubt getting into the rum stores.” Emma rushed to defend him but then clammed up. She could hear clattering coming from outside. Leroy's eyes widened and he reached out to stop her, but she jumped from his grasp and rushed to the little window. Pressing her forehead to the glass, she looked down and what she saw terrified her, although she wasn't sure why. 

“Your highness!” both Leroy and Red hissed. Red came over and put her hand on Emma's elbow, but she shook it off. She heard Leroy say something about going to get the guys and form a dwarf blockade, but she paid him no attention because she was too busy looking at the impressive display of power one story below. 

There was a freaking carriage outside, all black and ornate and drawn by four black horses stamping and pawing at the ground. It seemed like two dozen or so men in all black—in _armor_ , and helmets with the things across their faces and freaking swords at their waists—were milling around outside on horses, also all black. One of them rushed to the carriage door and opened it, and out stepped what could only be this Evil Queen she'd heard so much about. The woman who had supposedly kidnapped her. The woman who'd put her parents (Snow White was her mother!) to sleep. 

The woman who wanted to kill her, probably. 

Emma still had her forehead pressed to the cool glass, watching as the very regal, imposingly beautiful queen swept out of her carriage and started barking orders at the men around her. Emma was pretty impressed by the display of power; this queen spoke, and men jumped. One man, taller than the rest and dressed in clothes that seemed closer to what the people in the inn were wearing, leaned down to speak to the Queen and she nodded, her eyes sweeping the forest around her. Then she disappeared, walking into the inn just below where Emma was standing. 

Emma felt nothing; it seemed like she ought to feel fear, or panic, or trepidation, maybe, but she felt totally empty. Then she remembered that Killian was down there, probably getting arrested, and the desperate urge to go charging down there started to creep up her spine; then a weird spark in her belly started up, something she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she'd almost died chasing a skip— were it not for a freak electrical outage, he would have gotten the jump on her. 

Acknowledging that going in guns a-blazing (minus the gun) would only get herself and maybe Killian killed, she suppressed the urge to head into danger and tried to focus on something, anything. All she could come up with as her breath fogged the glass was the mental image she had of the Queen, cool and collected and in command. The Queen, casting a spell on her parents, on Snow White. Had she used an apple? Was this really Fairy Tale Land? Then something occurred to her that was so amusing that she started to chuckle, and her body started shaking as a full-bodied laugh took over. She had to step away from the window or else she'd knock herself out. 

“Your highness?” came Red's uncertain voice behind her, which only made Emma laugh harder. Highness. She _felt_ high. Dimly through her laughter, she realized she was probably hysterical. She wiped at her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. When she turned it was to see a look of concern on Red's face, Emma felt the laughter bubbling up again, so she forced herself to speak, choking only slightly on her own words. 

“Sorry. I think the whole situation is just getting to me.” 

“It's okay,” Red said warily, coming to Emma's side and gently leading her over to the bed to have a seat. “What was so funny, anyway?” 

“Oh, nothing, I just—“ _Oh, screw it._ “If my mother is Snow White, does that make my father Prince Charming?” Another laugh escaped and she clamped her hand over her mouth, but Red wasn't laughing. There was, however, a fond smile on her face. 

“Oh, that. His name is David, actually, but Snow always called him Charming. I never knew why. How did you know?” 

_Seriously_ ? 

“Nothing,” Emma muttered, totally sober now. She needed a drink. Turning to face Red, she took a deep breath. “Listen, Red. We can't just sit up here. We have to do something.” 

“I know. I promise, no one is going to get to you up here. Blue cast some sort of spell on these rooms, so the Queen and her knights can't come up here. I don't know what it is, so don't ask, but I trust the fairies. Granny and Leroy will get rid of the Queen, and then we'll figure out what we're going to do to get your parents to wake up.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Emma said. “I'm just not sure I believe any of this. I'm sorry, I know you guys want me to be your princess and all, but—“ 

“Emma,” Red said, her patience sounding exaggerated for Emma's benefit, which would annoy her except this was the first time someone besides Killian had called Emma by her name, so she let it go. “Blue is not wrong. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up without parents. It must have been terrible, and I'm sorry about that. Snow wanted you more than anything, you know? David, too. He was so excited that you were coming. They used to have these arguments about what they'd name you; they were going to go with 'Edmond' if you'd been a boy, but David kept insisting you were going to be his little princess.” Emma felt a confusing flush of pleasure at that. “Snow said it didn't really matter either way. She spent a lot of her time whittling little arrows for you and going through bags of feathers to find the perfect ones. She's a master archer, you know.” Emma wanted to hear more, to ask questions, which she realized meant she didn't necessarily _not_ believe what the woman was saying, but before she could open her mouth, there was a pounding on the door at about the same time a bunch of noise started coming from outside. Startled, both Emma and Red froze. 

“Red? Your highness? You still in there?” It was Leroy, and both women heaved relieved sighs. 

Red got up to get the door and Emma walked over to the window to see what was up. What she saw made her blood run cold. 

Killian was walking very close to the queen. She could see an unfamiliar smile on his face, one that looked to her to be very false, like he was complimenting her and telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. Emma hated it, she hated whatever he was saying to the Queen that was putting a satisfied smirk on her regal damned face. What the hell was happening? 

Leroy and Red came up behind her, and Red tried to pull her away from the window again. She resisted, trying to keep anyone down below from seeing her but silently cursing at Killian, trying to get him to give her some sort of sign that he knew what the hell he was doing. What was he doing? 

“Well, it looks like your pirate friend isn't untrustworthy, after all,” Leroy grunted, pressing his nose to the window next to Emma and looking down below. She turned to look at him, making sure she could still see the goings-on outside in her peripheral vision. “He's going to take them out to the forest. He told her you ran away from him. I have to give him credit,” Leroy said, pulling away from the window and turning to look at her with his arms folded. “He seems intent on protecting you, even though she'll probably fireball him when she finds out he was lying.” 

“Wait, what? Fireball?” 

“Yeah,” Leroy said gruffly, seeming uncomfortable. “The Queen's way of showing her displeasure. Giant fireball to the face.” He mimicked pitching a baseball overhand and Emma felt vomit-like panic rise up her throat. “Shame. I bet he was good in a fight, we could've used him for the coming war. Oh, well. All in service to Queen Snow and Princess Emma, right?” He grinned, elbowing Red, who was looking at Emma with a pitying expression on her face. 

“Not now, Grumpy,” she said softly, elbowing him back hard enough to make him grunt. 

“What?” he said indignantly, turning his chin up in defiance. “It would be an honor to die in service to their majesties.” 

“Yeah, but somehow, I don't think Emma wants anyone to die for her, much less _Liam_ ,” Red hissed, raising her eyebrows to indicate Emma still standing before them. She did her best to ignore their jibing, so she turned back to the window and saw that Killian was stepping into the queen's carriage. Dammit. He was leaving her alone! 

_He was leaving you, anyway._

“Come on, your highness. Grumpy will go see if they're gone while you get cleaned up. Then we can start to form a plan,” Red said gently, taking Emma by the arm. With her other hand she shoved Grumpy out of the room, and Emma let the woman direct her, for she was suddenly empty and didn't really feel like having to face yet another round of people with their curtsying and their expectations. 

Red gave her time to get cleaned up after showing her where to put her towel and how to clean her teeth and she took advantage of being a princess, claiming she needed to lie down. What she really needed was to figure out her next move, because she was pretty sure it didn't involve people who called the Enchanted Forest her home. While Red was downstairs doing whatever, probably calling in reinforcements or something, she made use of her skill set and crept around to the other rooms, looking for...she didn't know what, exactly. A means to escape or at the very least, defend herself. There wasn't a whole lot in the other rooms and she felt bad for sneaking around, but she did manage to find a trunk full of what looked like old clothes. She sighed with relief when she found some men's pants, the tight-fitting kind—breeches, she thought—so she pulled them on and ditched the skirt. The corset would have to stay because she had no idea what happened to her bra, but she kind of didn't mind it so much anymore. Red had shown her how to tighten the laces so that it didn't feel like her spleen was sliding down to her uterus, and she'd grown used to it while looking around for stuff. The only other useful item she found besides pants was a lethal-looking dagger, so she stuffed it down her boot and prayed it wouldn't shave off anything important. 

One of the other dwarves found her back in Red's room a while later, lying listlessly on the bed and singing an old Beatles tune out loud. He smiled shyly and gestured for her to follow him. She couldn't help herself, she knew it was a bad idea, but she said it anyway, annoyed that she was right. 

“You're Bashful, right?” He turned red and his smile was so endearing it nearly made her feel bad. He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him before turning to walk down the hall. 

She knew she would regret that. She wondered if she'd know which one was Dopey, too, and this was all really real, wasn't it? 

To her relief, the inn had emptied by the time she made her way downstairs. There were a few people left but most had gone, presumably to...their jobs? She had no idea. 

She followed Bashful to the same table she and Killian had shared earlier, ignoring the memory of him sitting there. Because he was gone. He'd left to save her, to lie for her. He was probably already dead. 

_Get it together, Swan._

She saw Granny bustling over with a tray, and before she could second-guess herself, she rose and rushed over to the inn door, ignoring the exclamations of Granny and Leroy and a few other alarmed voices. She yanked the door open, sensing there was nothing out there but wanting to look all the same. 

The grass outside the door was trampled from the horses, but other than that, there was nothing. No sign of struggle, which she knew because Killian had freaking given himself up to keep her safe, but still. She wanted evidence of his existence, something. She stepped around the grass, looking up and down the dirt road, wondering just how far out Killian had taken the queen and her men and how he was doing. 

“Your highness, please,” Red said urgently. Emma turned to see a bunch of kind, concerned faces gathered in the doorway. With a sigh, she stepped back toward the inn when a glint of metal caught her eye. She leaned down to inspect it and felt a twirling in her stomach. 

Killian's Zippo. 

She picked it up and squeezed it as she entered the inn, running her thumb over the surface and feeling the slight rise of the shamrock and anchor. Somehow, she knew he'd dropped it there for her. She pocketed it before returning to the table in the back, the dwarves and Red muttering admonishments in her wake. 

Granny showed up just as Emma was seating herself at the table, bringing yet more food and a tankard of what Emma assumed was beer or ale or whatever it was that went for bar drinks in the Enchanted Forest. She took a huge gulp and swiped at her mouth before looking at Granny warily. 

“Just like your mother,” she chuckled fondly before seating herself across from Emma. “Now, your highness. Red says she told you a little bit about your parents, and it occurred to me that you might have questions.” Granny stared at her intently, and Emma realized the woman was waiting for her to speak. She did have questions, about a zillion of them, but the problem was she couldn't focus on a single one. So, she settled for the first thing that popped into her head, and she couldn't help the frightened anger in her tone if she tried. 

“Do you think K-- Liam is dead?” 

Granny looked dismayed for a second, then her face drooped a little before she straightened both her back and her expression. “I hope not. He seemed like a good man.” 

“He is,” Emma said fervently, taking another sip of the thick beverage. Ale, she decided. She'd never had it, but this had a Guinness-like consistency. “So, how are we going to save him?” 

“Save him?” echoed Granny. “Dear, he sacrificed himself as a diversion to get the queen away from you. In fact, we really need to get you out of here, I just wanted you to rest and eat a little first. I'll bet some Black Knights will be back here ere long, but we're going to hide you with the dwarves so they can't find you. We've got to get you to the castle so you can see your parents.” 

Emma's focus on finding Killian took a backseat for a second. Her parents. Somehow, she'd forgotten they were even a factor in all of this. She had _parents_. 

“Well,” she said, picking up a piece of bread and dipping it in some gravy. “Go ahead and tell me about how they met.” 

It was decided that Red, Leroy, and the other dwarves would accompany Emma out to their cottage where they had once hid the bandit Snow White long ago; the journey there was largely uneventful and took them almost until the next day to get there by foot. 

They tried to avoid people, sticking mainly to the forest. Emma supposed it shouldn't have surprised her to learn that Red was a shape shifter when she asked why the woman kept sniffing the wind like a dog. 

“I'm a wolf, thank you,” she said primly, laughing at the look on Emma's face. Seriously, was anyone here just a person? 

Probably not. 

The cottage was exactly as she'd imagined it—like something out of, well. A fairy tale. It was even built to dwarf size, so she and Red had a little bit of a difficulty maneuvering, but they made do. 

As the days passed, Emma got more and more used to the idea that she was, indeed, in another realm. It was little things at first, like the fact that fairies popped in daily to check on the progress of the princess and the Plan. Or that Red had to go away the second night because the full moon was coming. Or that one damned day, she walked outside humming, and eight birds landed at her feet, looking at her expectantly and scolding her when she showed them she had empty palms (and had a slice of bread the following morning, to their seeming delight). 

One day, Leroy dragged an old trunk out to the common room and presented it with a flourish, looking quite pleased with himself, a look that didn't suit him. When she made no move to open it, he kicked the thing, grunting something about how her mother would want her to have it, then left the room, muttering under his breath. 

When she finally opened it, she gasped, realizing what it was. 

Her mother's things. 

A worn cloak that looked so comfortable she immediately switched it out for the rough homespun Killian had found for her, trying not to feel guilty, like she was betraying him, which was dumb. A quiver of arrows; she made note to ask after the bow, and to ask about her mother the master archer, a detail she had forgotten. A stack of letters tied with a bright red ribbon that she saved for later. A sword with a beautifully decorated hilt. A tiara. A pair of baby-sized socks that matched her blanket back home except that they were still perfectly white, not worn and perma-dusty like the thing she kept in a box under her bed. 

“I remember when Granny knitted all of that stuff,” Red said softly behind her. Emma realized her eyes were watering and she swiped at them angrily, dropping the little socks and picking up the sword instead. 

“Oof. This thing is heavy. My mother wielded swords, too? Was she like, her own knight in shining armor?” 

“Snow? Lord, no. That's David's sword, your father's. He is—or was—considered the best swordsman in the realm.” Emma rose from her cross-legged position in front of the trunk and hefted the blade, giving it a couple of practice swipes. It felt...good. Almost natural. Red's eyes widened as she watched. 

“It really is all coming to pass,” she whispered to herself, but Emma heard it and ignored it. She didn't want to hear more about any prophecy or her fate or whatever. She wasn't even sure what she wanted anymore, exactly, so she marched past the woman and headed for the door, the sword still in hand. 

“Where are you going, Emma?” 

“To practice. If there's a fight, I want to be ready.” 

When a fairy called Nova showed up later and saw Emma wielding her father's sword (and made Leroy blush just by looking at him, which amazed Emma and made her feel even fonder toward the gruff little man than she already was), she called out and Blue suddenly showed, her first appearance since Emma had last seen her at the inn when Killian was there. The painful reminder of his sacrifice was suddenly at the forefront, where she'd successfully kept thoughts of him away, and it made her angry. 

As the fairies were excitedly chattering on about training Emma and saying things like, “just like her father,” “she's a natural,” and “we need to bring in Mulan,” all Emma could do was wonder about Killian, and whether he was alive. 

She kept telling herself that he was gone, probably dead, but deep down inside, she knew that wasn't true. She would feel it if he were truly gone. She pressed her palm to her back pocket where she kept his Zippo and felt slightly better. She'd _definitely_ know if he was dead. 

Blue fluttered over, asking Emma if she'd like to be trained by the finest warrior in the land, and she found herself nodding yes. Yes, she would. 

She'd learned long ago how to keep herself safe, and relying on the ghosts of men long gone was something she'd thought she'd lost years ago, but apparently not. So, she resolved to stop wondering what had happened to her Lucky Liam, and focused instead on becoming this princess and savior everyone seemed to want her to be. 

It would be weeks before she learned what happened to him, and by then, she wouldn't want to know anymore, anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from a song by flogging molly. come talk to me on tumblr! this-too-too-sullied-flesh is me.


End file.
